Saints Row: Rise Of A Foreign Outsider (a novelisation of Saints Row)
by John Henry Irons III
Summary: After being granted a transfer from Ultor Unlimited's UK headquarters to Stilwater, a crash course introduction to American gang warfare is initiated after a gunfight is witnessed, resulting in Jay Irons staring down the barrel of a gun. Will he do what it takes to survive in this gang infested war zone? A first-person perspective on the events of the first game.
1. The Streets Of Stilwater

Stilwater, the venue of a new life for me to live. Little did I know that my lowkey entrance would be eclipsed by the events that laid ahead of me within this city. As I passed through customs and stepped into the sunshine, I noted the unremarkable scenery and drab colours. Beauty is only skindeep though, right?

A taxi pulled up almost immediately after I had checked my bank balance at the cashpoint inside the airport entrance and making a withdrawal (more on that later). A grimy yellow vehicle with the EagleLine Yellow logo on the side. Suitcase in tow, I walked to the rear and opened the boot before throwing in my luggage.

"So where to, my man?" the middle-aged driver asked as I climbed into the backseat. His breath reeked of cigar smoke and resisting the urge to recoil in disgust I referred to my notes as he turned back around to grip the steering wheel. He began to drive before I could give him the destination.

"Mission Beach please," I replied. The taxi suddenly lurched forward and came to an abrupt halt with the driver whipping his head around in surprise.

"Is that a British accent?" he inquired with a look of disbelief on his grizzled face. He studied me closely and was leaning towards me.

"I've transferred from my company's English headquarters to their Stilwater site," I explained. "It's my first time here in this part of the country so I'm not sure what to expect from this place."

The driver returned to the wheel and addressed me while looking in the rearview mirror, pulling away from the kerb. "You're in luck," he said. "I was born and raised here so I can fill you in. I hope that your bosses haven't set you up to live in Mission Beach though. It's not Ultor, is it?"

I avoided the question, clearly not wanting to let on that I may have been hoodwinked by Ultor management. I had been propositioned by my boss back in England to "sleep" my way into a more lucrative role within the company. Beside the fact that they were supposedly happily married, they were also male which doomed that enterprise from the start. I then emailed a tranfer request to Human Resources (cc'ing him and his boss). Possibly through fear of having a harassment case it was approved and this resulted in being sat in this taxi. But I didn't tell the driver this.

"What can you tell me about Mission Beach?" I asked. "I'm assuming that it's bad for residents but is it an okay place to visit?"

The driver gave me a long silent stare in his rearview mirror. "It's a goddamn warzone buddy," he replied, with a voice full of conviction. "It's territory claimed by a gang call the 3rd Street Saints but their enemies the Vice Kings are constantly trying to move in on them. Add the Los Carnales and Westside Rollerz to the mix and you have yourself a hell of a kill zone! Just be sure to cross the street if you ever see groups of youngsters wearing blue, yellow, red or purple walking towards you."

During this briefing of sorts, I had indeed noticed these gang members standing on street corners and driving past us. The yellow gangs drove saloon cars that were most likely the sport editions of the particular model they were, the blue thugs drove modified cars that would make my younger brother's mouth water. They were obviously petrolheads and it showed through the way that the cars were kept immaculately clean. The red hoodlums which I assumed were the Los Carnales (or is it just Los Carnales?) drove lowriders and were primarily hispanic. Then I realised that the yellow gangsters were a range of ethnicities and that relaxed me. The fact that I was black wouldn't necessarily mean that I would be left bulletridden on some street by default, which is what my bosses back home may have counted on.

As the journey went on, the taxi driver told me about being raised in Shivington and how life was before the gangland wars. The Carnales then claimed the neighbourhood before they were forced out sometime later by the Vice Kings. His youngest son became a Vice King and was shot dead by one of the Carnales when his gun jammed and refused to fire. On a less morbid note, his daughter now lives in Steelport as a banker and his eldest son is currently stationed in Germany with the military. Both of them frequently urge him to leave Stilwater and it's become a family running joke. But let me get back to the story.

We arrived in Mission Beach that sat adjacent to a construction site. The buildings were in disarray but it didn't seem as bad as I had been told, much to my relief. The taxi stopped and the driver turned to me once again.

"Be careful out here, pal. It seems quiet right now but it's only the quiet before the storm so keep your head down. You seem like a good kid so I'll tell you this, you aren't the first Ultor employee to be thrown into the lions' den and I doubt you'll be the last. You must've really pissed someone off, did you spill someone's tea or something?"

I laughed nervously, still shocked at how this taxi driver had deduced my circumstances but also at the jab at the British stereotype. "I refused to have sex with my boss and asked to be transferred," I answered. "There was no chance of me giving in to doing that for a better salary."

"What was wrong with her?" he asked with a puzzled look before that turned to unease. "Or are you...well, you know..."

I shook my head and gave him a reassuring smile. "My boss was a man and I wasn't planning to switch allegiances, even for a brief moment. Abuse of power at its finest!"

"It's good to see there are still some people out there with principles." he said. He extended his hand. "My name's Al, don't worry about the fare though. I feel my faith in humanity returning ever so slightly."

I took his hand firmly and shook it. "I'm Jay, may as well call me the sacrificial lamb for Ultor Unlimited, except that I'm not a virgin." We both laughed. I opened the car door and got out. "Take care Al, drive safe and hopefully I'll see you round."

"You too Jay. Between you and me, get yourself an equaliser for protection. I always keep my .44 Shepherd upfront with me in my cab and I've had to use it on occasion to deal with scumbags. Make sure you stay indoors until then!"

I stood still watching him drive away until the taxi disappeared around the corner. We had actually stopped right outside of my new home which had a garage built into the side so I didn't have to walk far. If only I had know what was in store for me inside.

The interior was hideous! It was basically a bedsit but it reminded me of a typical crack den or traphouse. I wouldn't have been surprised if the previous occupier met a violent fate either in here or somewhere nearby. There was a mattress on the floor, a small portable TV, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a fridge, a dirty sink, some miscellaneous furniture and a large (empty) safe. It was disgusting and I couldn't believe that I had to live here now.

I stepped outside to contact my new workplace and to escape the cesspit that was my new home. The sun was shining and seeing as the weather was remarkably good, I felt my mood improve a little.

"Hello, Ultor Unlimited Human Resourcing, I'm Melissa, how can I help?" said a chirpy, young female voice.

"Hello Melissa, my name is Jay Irons and I've recently transferred from the Leicester office over in England" I explained. "I've just landed here in Stilwater and was wondering when you would like me to come into the office."

"Hi Jay! Yes, I was told that you'd be landing today and I've been instructed to brief you as soon as you were to call. Basically, we've decided to give you a fortnight to get used to the city before you have to actually start your new job. We've already wired $1000 to your new account with the Stilwater 1st National Bank with no strings attached. You're an exceptional case apparently!"

"Ah I see. That explains what I've just seen on the ATM machine screen," I said suspiciously. "That's good news as I'm a bit jetlagged right now and everything is much different to England here!"

"Well I hope you enjoy working with us on this side of the Atlantic. It's Friday today so you have seventeen days to relax and prepare. I love your accent by the way, welcome to America and please don't hesitate to call me if you have any problems, okay?"

"I was given the details by my HR department across the water so I should be fine. Thanks for the info Melissa."

"Okay, it's been great talking to you. Have a nice day, Jay!"

I ended the call and walked back inside, I was starting to feel tired and I was able to find a clean sleeping bag to use with the mattress. I took one last look at my surroundings, gave out a sigh and disrobed to my boxers before climbing inside the sleeping bag.

I woke up to find the sky dark and the room much cooler than earlier. I was hungry so I rummaged around in my backpack to find the three identical submarine sandwiches I had bought in the airport (with their turkey, beef, chicken and lettuce filling) and put two into the fridge while eating one. It was deathly silent outside and seeing as the TV didn't work I decided to go for a walk. I threw on a black t-shirt, some jeans and put on my trainers before stepping outside.

Mission Beach is a peculiar place to be in at night, I walked past a man selling watches who proceeded to begin a sales pitch before realising that I wasn't going to stop and buy anything. He turned his attention elsewhere instead and almost immediately a woman kindly offered her "services" promising me a good time. Before I could turn her down (although I was tempted), we both heard raised voices on the other side of the street. Three men wearing yellow were staring at some graffiti on a wall, and were obviously annoyed at its presence. One wore a white basketball jersey with a yellow t-shirt underneath, another wore a yellow t-shirt with canerows (better known as cornrows) and the third wore a yellow zipup jacket.

The yellow t-shirt thug then began to spray over the graffiti that had said "Rollerz" until three thugs dressed in blue approached them. One wielded a baseball bat and things seemed to heat up and the thug with the bat struck the basketball jersey wearing thug in the face. The canerows-sporting thug then punched him and sprayed his attacker's friend in the eyes with the can of spraypaint. Zipup Jacket Man then hit the thug still standing as the baseball bat thug ran away (who was hit by the thrown spraypaint can as he ran past me and the hooker.

A red lowrider then pulled up with three Los Carnales men who then opened fire with sub-machine guns and assault rifles on the remaining five thugs who began firing back with their handguns. Both of the thugs wearing blue were downed along with the yellow zipup jacket thug but while one Carnales thug was reloading, out of nowhere the canerow thug charged the lowrider and shot one assailant at point blank range. He too was then was gunned down like the other three.

As this was going on, I was making a silent getaway amongst all of the chaos. Just as I thought that I had gotten away with my life, I turned around and quickly dived out of the way of the out-of-control lowrider which burst into flames as it hit the wall. I hit my bad knee as I landed, rolling onto my back slowly as I surveyed the almost cinematic scene. I quickly assessed the situation, one thug in blue had ran away and the thug in the jersey must have been still seeing stars after being acquainted with that baseball bat. I looked over at the car and noticed that one Los Carnales thug had been thrown clear, and with his sunglasses intact, no less. Deep dread then gripped me when I saw the thug in blue who had originally ran past me and the hooker approach toting an assault rifle, assumedly from his car. The thug lying on the ground tried to get up and received a generous number of rounds to the chest at point blank range as I watched. This thug was then shot in the back of the head just as I noticed the Ultor logo on his hat by the jersey wearing gangster who then noticed me and drew closer, raising the firearm at me and holding it sideways as I tried to shift away backwards.

"Wrong time, wrong place, dog" he said, with a twinge of regret in his voice. Where did that hooker or the man selling watches go? I'm guessing that I was the nearest witness to this skirmish and all that was on my mind was that seeing as he was holding the gun sideways, maybe there was a chance that he would miss. Was it possible to miss from inside five metres? That thought was ended by a gunshot...


	2. Saved By The Saints

It's been quite a while since I've written the previous chapter but here's the next one!

Everything that happened next seemed to occur in slow motion. The thug standing over me with the GDHC .50 in my face began to squeeze the trigger but was interrupted by the pink mist that had suddenly erupted from the left side of his head. By the time I had finally blinked, he was sprawled out on the ground motionless.

A voice caught my attention. "You okay, playa?" I looked up to see a middle-aged man wearing a flat cap turned backwards, two gold chains and a leather jacket. He helped me to my feet and graciously lent a sturdy shoulder as I tried to limp away from the burning car. I noticed that we were flanked by a brown-haired younger man who was scanning our surroundings with his .44 Shepherd's barrel smoking. I quickly surmised that he was the person to thank but I could help but think, why did they kill that thug before he could do the devil's work?

"Julius, let's move" the younger man said, snapping me out of the trance I was in. The older man helped me up and hurried me away from the car and strewn bulletridden bodies. As I bit my lip from the pain of my knee, the burning car exploded and the shockwave almost knocked us off our feet. I found myself guided to a nearby street corner and sat down on the pavement with my back against the wall.

"That don't look so bad, you should be fine," Julius said, crouching down. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the younger man who wore a sweater and a single gold chain. "That's Troy. You can thank him later." I gave the still-standing Troy a headnod in acknowledgement.

"The Row ain't safe no more, son" Julius continued. "We've got gangs fighting over shit that ain't theirs and with you in the way, they don't care if you're representing or not."

"Julius, this is no time to recruit," Troy interjected. My mind was still racing from the skirmish that had happened prior to their appearance but the word 'recruit' sent me into a tailspin. It was at this point that I spotted that both of them wore purple and black. What had I gotten myself into? Julius then turned his head to glare at Troy.

"We need all the help we can get, son!"

"No, we need to get our asses outta here!"

"In a minute," Julius turned back to me while Troy gave an indignant sigh and resumed scanning our surroundings. Sirens could now be heard in the distance. Julius then lowered his voice.

"Look, the Row's got a problem. Come to the church when you want to be part of the solution."

Satisfied that his point had been delivered, he got up and walked away with Troy in tow. As I watched them round the corner I felt torn. Tonight's events were obviously not a standalone event and next time I could end up in a Stilwater morgue like the rest of the corpses strewn across the street. If I joined with Julius then I would have protection but at what cost? Did they only save my life to use me a a pawn? One thing was for sure, I wouldn't last very long living in a neighbourhood like this unless I made a decision sooner rather than later.

As I limped home to my hovel away from the approaching sirens, I finally made up my mind. Like it or not, I owed Julius and Troy my life and as an outsider I would clearly be on the fringe of whatever they were a part of. Chances were that they'd notice that I was unsuitable for whatever plans they had, whatever they were. I also got the feeling that the police or Ultor would be less than understanding of my predicament. Who else could I turn to but them?


	3. Canonised

The damp patch that resided on my ceiling held my gaze as I lay on my mattress. The bedsit was far from an ideal place to bring a woman back to, I'd have to do some major cleaning before even entertaining that plan and that was assuming that I'd live long enough to do it.

I was reluctant to go outside after my brush with death last night but I needed food, and badly. Making sure to put on some flip-flops before crossing the disgusting linoleum floor, I made my way to the fridge in my boxers. The floor in the kitchen area had one part that had been stained red, as if a pool of blood had been there for a good while. It wouldn't have been much of a surprise if I had been told that someone had been murdered in here and on further inspection there was a number of bullet holes in the walls too.

At least the water was clean, I got washed up and dressed to leave but promptly stopped walking once the front door had closed behind me. I had planned to get a taxi and get something to eat in downtown Stilwater, instead I walked to a nearby fast food restaurant called Freckle Bitch's and bought a double decker burger ('The Fist') and a large lemonade (a 'Big Swallow'). Its surroundings were a far cry from the neighbourhood. Strangely, on the way there and in the restaurant there were a number of people wearing purple which reminded me of Julius' proposal. By the time I had finished my drink, I had made my decision whether to take the plunge or to go it alone.

The church wasn't as ominous-looking as I had expected although it was covered completely in graffiti. I tentatively opened the door and peered inside hoping not to find anything. My wish was granted as although the place had been occupied recently, it was deserted. I breathed a sigh of relief and quietly left but as I was going down the steps I saw a girl wearing purple walk towards the adjoining graveyard. Against my better judgement (and possibly not thinking with my brain) I followed her and quickly realised why it was so devoid of life inside the church. A sizable number of people wearing purple were gathered talking. Before I could change my mind, I had been spotted and cursing under my breath, I joined them within their midst. Troy was standing above the set of steps that led to the side entrance of the church and it was long before Julius emerged with a stern look on his face.

"Every motherfucker here knows what we need to do," he barked. I looked around at everyone else. There were a couple of girls I would have liked to...let me get back to the speech. Julius continued on.

"Those bitches be riding around, thinking they own these streets. I don't care what flags they're flying, Rollerz, Carnales, Vice Kings, no one's making this nigga scared to walk the Row! We're about to lock this shit down right now!"

Everyone cheered in approval while I gauged their reactions. Julius was definitely their leader but what was I getting myself into? I was going further and further down the rabbit hole but I hadn't reached the point of no return. Not yet anyway.

"Who the fuck's this guy?" a voice said, snapping me out of my thoughtful trance. Everyone was now staring at me, the only person not wearing the same colours as them. I hoped that none of the gangs in this city wore black as that was exactly what I was now wearing. My eyes flicked from one face to another, each seemingly willing me to make one false move and to give them a reason to have me buried in a foreign land with multiple fractures with a bullet in my head. Fortunately, Julius defused the potentially fatal situation.

"Troy and I found him," he said, referring to me. "I was going to see if he was going to ride with us."

"Julius, if he wants to run with the Saints then he has to me canonised" an eccentric-looking Asian-American man said. Why do I use that to describe him? Gold earrings, tribal neck tattoos, lightly tinted sunglasses and an interesting hairstyle. This consisted of a hightopped crewcut with platinum blond hair and black roots. He was the one who woke me from my daydreaming with his profanity.

"He's right, Julius. Everyone had to do it," Troy interjected. Julius turned to me and looked me directly in the eye. I saw the same degree of remorse in his eyes as I had with that thug from last night who had the gun in my face.

"You ready for this, playa?" he asked, gently. I had been quickly been surrounded by a number of individuals draped in purple who were eyeing me with stone-faced determination. I counted four males and two females in this group who had their fists clenched.

Before I knew it, an overweight thug moved toward me and threw a slow right haymaker. I swayed to his left and kicked his outer left knee and followed it up with a vicious right elbow strike to the side of his head.

As he dropped to the floor, I spun around to see a woman charge at me. Before she could also throw a punch, I grabbed her tightly by the throat and while sweeping her back leg, I firmly planted her flat on her back in the grass nearby. She gasped as the air was knocked out of her lungs and when I let go of her throat, her neck had bruises left by my fingers.

Do you think you're good enough to run with us or do you need another kick in the head?" he asked. Out of the corner of my eye on my right side, I saw a foot travelling toward my face but after grabbing the sole and the ankle of the person, I swung around and kicked them leftfooted in the stomach as hard as I could. I looked over briefly to see the second woman in the foetal position kicking her legs and clearly in pain as the skinny kung-fu guy tried to stomp my head into the ground. Through mostly luck, I quickly lifted my right foot and made contact with his scrotum, stopping him in his tracks.

I quickly got to my feet and was faced with the two remaining assailants. They both exchanged a look and then rushed me, obviously planning to overwhelm me. I quickly assessed the situation, one was thin and wiry whereas the other appeared to be slightly more robust. Standing in a low stance and keeping my eyes on the second man, I waited for them to get closer before switching my attention to the skinny thug. I exploded out of my position and as my shoulder connected with his solar plexus, I lifted both of his legs and slammed him into a tree. The spectators groaned as they watched their friend slide down the tree trunk into a seated position.

The last man caught me with a punch to the stomach and shoved me hard off of my feet onto my back. Sensing victory, he climbed on top of me but I managed to wrap my legs around his waist which caught him by surprise. He gave me a look of disgust and threw a righthanded punch but I grabbed his wrist, raised my left leg across his face and the other leg across his chest, forcing him onto his back and securing an armbar submission hold. Still gripping his wrist, I hyperextended his arm as much as possible until he screamed in pain.

"Okay, that's enough!" Julius commanded. I let go and we both stood up, my victim rubbed his elbow with his eyes lowered. The other attackers were where I had left them and had been watching attentively. I wanted to gloat but I knew that I'd be pushing my luck in doing that so I kept my mouth shut instead.

Troy walked over and gave me dap. "You earned your colours today" he said. That helped me to relax a little as I felt my adrenaline dissipate. I had beaten six gang members singlehandedly, deep on their own turf!

A hand clapped onto my shoulder bringing me back down to earth. "That's some impressive shit! The only other Saint who kicked ass like that was Johnny!" the owner of the hand told me. I followed his eyes to the foul-mouthed Asian-American man who I now deduced was Johnny.

"Shit," he said cooly, turning his nose up at me. "Took me half the time."

"Welcome to the 3rd Street Saints," Julius said, stoicly. He walked over to us and gave me a fist bump. I couldn't help but give a sly grin as Johnny sized me up.

"Let's get down to business" he continued. "If we're serious about taking back the Row, we've got to let those motherfuckers know what time it is. Now if you break it down, it's all about respect. Get enough of it, they're gonna back off, and we're gonna move right on in. We've got some friends in town that could use some help. Give them a hand. Of course, you can always drop any motherfucker flying the wrong flag. So long as word gets out that the Saints are on the Row, I don't give a damn how you do it. You feel me?"

I assumed that I was the last bulletpoint on the meeting agenda because everyone dispersed as soon as he had finished. The thug with the headband gave me the thumbs up so I returned the gesture so I felt better that things weren't taken personally. Johnny gave me a headnod (a good sign) as he left and I was approached by the same girl who I had followed to the church earlier. I had established myself as a dangerous man and was on my way to getting the girl too. This day was improving by the minute!

"Aren't you full of surprises?" she exclaimed. "You're tougher than you look."

"I do my best," I replied. I watched her jaw drop in astonishment.

"You're British too? What the hell are you doing here in Stilwater?"

"It's a long story but maybe I can tell you later. If there is a later, of course."

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to give you my cell number."

I obediently handed over my smartphone for her to input her number. I wasn't expecting her to be so forward but this wasn't a regular suburban girl I was talking to. She went from 0-60mph but this analogy led to her intentions.

"Will you relax? I haven't been given orders to put a bullet in your head, I'm just offering to be your guide for a little while to help you get used to things around here. Think of me as your wheelwoman or something," she laughed. "Don't get any ideas though, I love your accent but I'm in a long-term relationship and even though he got his ass handed to him when he was canonised, touch me and one of us will make your brains touch the concrete."

I stared at her speechlessly. I wasn't expecting a death threat from her but I had a funny feeling that her words were sincere. There was little chance of making any intimate acquaintance but I was fine with keeping things platonic. I stuck out my hand.

"I'm Jay. Strictly business is fine with me."

"I'm Tamyna," she said, shaking my hand. "Welcome to Saints Row. If you ever need a ride somewhere then give me a call but make sure you have a plan B, I have a life away from the Saints, you know." She looked over at the front of the church. "It looks like Troy wants to talk to you." Troy was beckoning me over and urging us to finish our conversation. She began to walk away. "I'll see you later. And don't call me at stupid o'clock either, I have a feeling that you'll need my"

I walked over to Troy who looked as serious as ever. I had a feeling that I wouldn't like what he was about to say but I still hadn't decided when I had reached the point of no return.

"Hey, you did good today," Troy said. "Now that you're one of us, what's your name?"

"Jay," I replied. I was still trying to anticipate where this conversation was leading to.

"Great. Alright man, time for you to buy a piece."


	4. Back To Basics

I apologise for the long wait, life has been...involving, so it taken me a good while to get this done. This chapter is pretty lengthy so I hope that makes up for the delay! 

* * *

I'll need a gun? Things were about to get intense.

Troy wordlessly led me around 200 metres down the street to a firearm shop on the corner humourously called Friendly Fire as I mulled over what crime I could possibly have to commit. Seeing as I was now a prospective member of their outfit, I expected that I'd have to rob some vulnerable establishment or any unwitting citizen who happened to cross my path. Apprehensively, I took a deep breath and entered the building.

I was greeted by the sight of guns throughout the room, in glass cabinets, on the walls and on a low shelf behind the proprietor himself. He was an older black man, possibly in his mid-forties with a demeanor that suggested that the ambience of the neighbourhood was far from a new experience. Having hardly ever handled a gun (although I had seen a couple back in England), I was still wrestling with the inevitability that I'd end up owning one of these guns.

"What's happening, Troy?" the shopkeeper said. He examined me closely, sizing me up. "New recruit for the cause?"

"That's right, he got caught in the crossfire between the Rollerz, Carnales and VKs last night" Troy explained, as I looked away awkwardly and fixed my gaze on a rocket propelled grenade launcher that was mounted on the wall. "We canonised him earlier today so I'm taking him to make his bones."

A long silence then followed and I turned around to find both men staring at me. I had obviously missed some key part of the conversation despite not being able to contribute at all. Troy spoke up first.

"Errol asked you a question. Have you handled a gun before?" I shook my head.

"I've never fired a bonafide weapon, I had a CO2 pistol back home but nothing lethal," I answered.

"Hey, we've got an Brit boy in Saints Row? Dammit Troy, I've got a good feeling about this one!" Errol opened up one of the glass cabinets and took out one of the handguns that was displayed. "This is a semi-automatic VICE 9, 12-round magazine and great for gun virgins. The stopping power isn't great but the reduced kickback will hopefully keep you hitting your target instead of killing clouds." he paused for effect. "Just my humble recommendation, of course."

I looked to Troy for his approval and he was already nodding with approval. He picked up the gun and while keeping the safety on, slapped a magazine into the VICE 9 and slid a round into the chamber before handing it to me.

"Get a feel of it but leave the safety on and don't point it at anyone." he turned to Errol while I weighed it in my hand and stood in a police stance facing the wall. They both exchanged glances, Errol looking mildly amused and Troy looked thoughtful. "How much for the piece?"

"I'll take $100 and I'll throw in a spare clip for free. The Saints are my best customers after all. I've even scratched off the serial for you so it's untraceable, just in case."

Troy reached for his wallet but my sudden movement stopped him. To his disbelief I reached into my own wallet and put the money on the counter. Again, they exchanged glances and after initially raising his eyebrow in surprise, Errol put the notes into the cash register.

I tucked the gun into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back and put the extra magazine into my pocket. I then stuck my hand out across the counter which Errol speechlessly shook politely.

"I'll be seeing you around Errol," I declared, making sure to not appear vainglorious. "Unless I take a wrong turn and end up in a hail of bullets. I'd rather not have the latter occur though."

Again, both men shot each other a bemused look. "Because of the other outfits fighting over this neighbourhood I haven't been able to stock anything substantial," Errol eventually said. "So I'm hoping that you Saints can liberate the rest of us here in Mission Beach. If you can do that then I'll have some goodies all ready for you."

Troy ushered me toward the door and as we crossed the threshold fired off a mock salute. "Just have faith, my man."

Shutting the door behind him, Troy slapped me on the shoulder and pulled out his .44 Shepherd. "Alright man," he said, gently. "What do you say we take that piece and clean up the Row?" I removed the VICE 9 from my back and studied it closely in the palms of my hands. It had finally sunken in that I was going to have to end someone's life but this wasn't my main issue, I was more concerned in getting shot at or killed myself. Whoever I would be pointing this gun at would more than likely not have my health and wellbeing in mind, along with also being armed too. Sighing, I resigned myself to my possible fate and looked to the sky.

Snapping me out of my funk with his sudden movement, Troy began to cross the street and walk back to the church. "What are you doing? Come on, I've got your back." I followed closely as we approached the graveyard and began to cross it. I looked over at the spot where I had almost been beaten by the few Saints that were tasked with testing my resolve.

Suddenly I was pulled forward towards the low wall of the graveyard and made to sit down out of sight. With us both seated with our backs to the wall, Troy leaned over and kept a firm grip on my wrist. "This is it, man. If you look across the street behind us, you'll see two VKs chilling. It's your job to make them both leave, and when I mean leave I'm talking about on a stretcher covered in a white sheet. Am I clear?"

"But won't they shoot at me as soon as they see me?" I tentatively asked.

"You're not wearing gang colours so I doubt that will happen," he answered, shrugging. "The worst thing that they will consider is that you're a cop or something so you'll have to be quick. Are you ready to do this?" I turned around and peeked over the wall at the two Vice King gang members. Their voices were inaudible from where I was but I assumed that they were engaging in some sort of banter. Both appeared to be unarmed but judging from what had happened last night, no gang member was ever weaponless. A plan formed in my mind.

"Okay I can do it. It's either them or me, right?" Troy grinned at me and slapped me on the shoulder again. Instantly regretting agreeing to this, I took a deep breath and after tucking the VICE 9 into the front of my jeans under my t-shirt, stood up and walked out of the graveyard.

Within seconds I was noticed by the two Vice Kings who began yelling to get my attention. "What you doing over there? You can suck my dick from that far away," one shouted. Making sure to remain calm with a faux confused facial expression, I strolled over to them.

"Need any help?" I asked while maintaining a safe distance. "I'm not too familiar with this neighbourhood as I've only been in Stilwater since yesterday so I can't give any directions." They both scanned me thoughtfully for what seemed like forever. They were wearing the yellow t-shirt/white basketball jersey ensemble and were near obese-looking. I relaxed a little but I felt a twnge of guilt. As these two were white and I was black, would this be class as a hate crime? I tried to weigh the pros and cons of completing this act before I was interrupted.

"I said, where are you from?" the other said, loudly. "Are you deaf?"

"I'm from England," I replied. "I've found America to be pretty interesting so far. Can you recommend any...wait, you want my money and valuables, don't you?"

I tried to look as dejected as possible as they laughed and highfived each other. "We have ourselves a genius Brit!" one said. "Empty your pockets and we'll let you be on your way but don't try to run because we own this turf. We will find you sooner or later."

This was what I was waiting for. "Okay, okay, I'll do it! I don't want any trouble!" I took out my mobile phone from my left pocket. "My wallet is in my other pocket so let me get it." They continued to watch me looking amused as I moved my right hand under my t-shirt and gripped the VICE 9 quickly. As I stepped forwards, I flipped the safety off, pulled out the gun and fired two shots point blank at one Vice King, hitting him in the roof of his mouth (he was yawning) and his throat. As he dropped to his knees, I turned to the other gang member and buried two bullets into his forehead as he stood flabbergasted. The first Vice King was still on his knees gurgling so I shot him once in the cranium and planting my foot in his chest, shoved him onto his back.

I heard running footsteps behind me so I did a quick 180 and almost pulled the trigger before realising that Troy was standing in front of me. I put the gun's safety on and tried to put it in the front waistband of my jeans but was momentarily burnt by the hot barrel. He chuckled at this.

"Shit, you don't mess around, do you?" he said. He searched the dead Vice Kings and unloaded their guns before handing me the magazines. "Nice job, you made it look easy as pie but could you do it again?" I followed his eyes to see two more Vice Kings who were quite a way down the street. I knew that I had seven rounds left but decided to take the chance to fully load my gun just in case while Troy kept watch on the invaders.

"Once I kill these two then will I be done for the day?" I asked, while slapping in the replenished magazine. "We're just following Julius' orders, man. I'm not trying to get you killed on purpose but we need to see your skills." Troy said.

"Wait a second, my skills? I've only just stepped off the plane and I've already murdered two people in cold blood. I had never even SEEN a gun, let alone used one and you're expecting me to somehow pass this test of yours with flying colours? Seriously?" I made to storm off but Troy caught my arm.

"Listen, don't get it twisted and hold on for a second. Julius told me that he sees something in you and that you could be an important part in taking back the Row. Look what you did to these VKs, they never stood a chance!"

"You're not winning me over here, Troy."

"If you stick with us then at least I can promise you that none of the Saints will even think of robbing you, breaking into your home or kill you. Can you say the same about the VKs, Rollerz and the Los Carnales? And think about it, if we lose the Row then this will happen to you. Safety in numbers, right?"

I looked at the VICE 9 in my hand and without another word, flipped the safety off and began to stride toward the distant Vice Kings. Troy called after me but I was too incensed to make out the words. Before I knew it, I was a mere stone's throw from the sweatband-wearing hoodlums who were dressed in long, loose yellow t-shirts and were harassing a young blonde girl. They were clearly oblivious to the firearm in my hand.

"How do you know that you won't like it?" the overweight black Vice King asked the girl. "At least give one of us your phone number, and your address, and your social security number too!" His comrade, an almost emaciated white teenager laughed at this.

"Screw you assholes," the girl said, venomously.

"Do you promise?" I asked, innocently. All three of them turned to look at me as I closed the range between us. I already had a plan of action and it was currently underway. "These two dudes are harmless, girl. Don't worry about them." The larger Vice King, looking confused turned back to the other as I drew even closer. "Can you believe this fool?"

The girl had noticed my gun by now and after giving her a wink, I lifted the weapon and quickly fired three times at the wiry Vice King. the first bullet hit him in the stomach and the other two in the chest. Without giving him a chance, I then fired two shots at the head of the roly-poly Vice King, both entering his skull through the temple. I quickly took away the gun that was under his ample stomach, walked over to the smaller gang member and put an extra round through his forehead as he struggled to breathe. I assume that his lungs were filling with blood so I'm sure I did him a favour.

Looking around, the girl had disappeared but Troy was jogging over from his vantage point. "Damn, you're the real deal! I don't need anymore convincing about you," he exclaimed. "I got a text telling me that there are two more VKs only just around the corner. Don't worry, I'm going with you this time to get rid of them." He took the gun that I had taken, removed the magazine and checked the chamber, wiped it clean on my t-shirt before dropping it back onto the rotund hoodlum.

Before I could answer, he had darted around the corner and once I had caught up, I dropped into a crouch and hugged the wall behind him. Loud music was coming from the courtyard ahead and as we creeped closer, he turned back and ushered me in front so that I could see. My jaw dropped at the sight that greeted me. A pristinely clean yellow Compton was parked with the two Vice Kings leaning against it whilst deep in conversation. One had an 80s-style hightop fade and the other had a smooth-looking bald head with a slightly grimy white sweatband. I tightened my grip on the gun in my hand and stepped into the open.

While facing the wall that I had been hiding behind, I backed towards the Vice Kings and started yelling. "Everyone hide, the Saints are coming!" I declared, looking back at the confused thugs. I ran and ducked down behind the other side of the Compton and watched them confer intensely, almost ignoring the concealed Troy who poked his head out and glared at me. When he had hidden himself away, I stood up and addressed the Vice Kings.

"Aren't you going to bury those losers?" I inquired, exasperatedly. "They robbed me last night, help me get them and I'll join you!" They both grinned at each other and began to creep slowly in the direction of Troy. I had no doubt that they were planning on relieving me of my money at some point so I re-emerged and stood behind the dynamic duo.

"I've always wanted to see a Saint die but I've never killed anyone before," I said. "Let me come with you. Safety in numbers, right?"

Both pairs of eyes remained on the corner that Troy was crouched behind and the two assailants moved closer. "How many are there?" the one with the bald head asked, without looking at me. I raised my gun and pointed it at the back of his head. "Oh, there's one around that corner and one behind you."

Without hesitating, I fired twice at the base of his skull and quickly turned to my right to fire twice more into the left cheek of the criminal with the hightop. Both were dead before they hit the ground but to make sure, I gave them an extra bullet in the head to seal the deal. Before I knew it, Troy was standing in front of me admiring my handiwork.

"Looks like that got their attention" he said. "If it ever gets too hot, go to Forgive And Forget. They'll cover up everything." I looked at him blankly before he continued. "We have contacts that can get the word out that one of the other gangs took out those VKs so they won't know that it was anyone from The Row. In any case, we need to get out of here before the cops arrive."

His phone rang as he finished his sentence and as he engaged in conversation with the caller, I strolled back over to examine the Compton. While making sure not to touch anything, I peered in through the driver's side and marvelled at the gold-coloured interior. Its immaculate leather upholstery made me want to keep the vehicle but it wouldn't have made sense to be living in Saints Row with a Vice King car. Life wasn't fair.

But an idea hit me. I went through my phone's contact list and sent a text to Tamyna explaining that I needed her to drive Troy and myself from point A to B as soon as possible. She responded back by telling me to meet her at the church just as Troy was ending his phonecall.

"We need to get to the church so that we can get away from the Row," I explained. Without waiting for a reply, I was about to walk back the way we had came but Troy stopped me and guided me in the opposite direction. I realised that returning to the scenes of my crimes could've landed me behind bars out of sheer stupidity. I clearly needed to be more street savvy.

Tamyna was waiting for us at the front of the church (we had circled around the neighbourhood and approached from the opposite direction), leaning against her car. It was a nondescript purple Destiny that was rather unremarkable in appearance in contrast to the Vice King Compton but which was ideal for this particular task. I noticed the slightly worn out tyres and the other knocks and scrapes it happened to have. It was a regular car that we needed to lay low for a while.

"And I'm assuming that the big fuss around the Row was you two?" she inquired, quizzically.

"What brings you out here Tamyna?" Troy asked her. "We had some business to take care of for Julius but we can safely say that my input was not required, if you know what I mean."

"Wait, so our new BG here did all the work himself?"

"Yeah, he's a true streetsweeping Saint and it's only his first day."

"Folks, I'm standing right here," I interjected. "Can we talk and drive? I don't feel particularly safe around here with the police possibly on their way."

They both shot each other an amused glance and got into the car. Troy climbed into the back, leaving me to sit at the front with Tamyna. She smoothly started the engine and pulled away from the church.

"Hey man, now that everything's taken care of, can you drop me off at Freckle Bitch's?" Troy asked. "I'm jonesin' for a fun bag." This time Tamyna and I exchanged looks, her rolling her eyes at the absurdly articulated request.

After stopping at Forgive And Forget where Troy handed over a modest amount of currency to the cashier, we eventually arrived at Freckle Bitch's. It was an otherwise quiet drive where I reflected on what I had done. Six lives snuffed out but I felt nothing, dare I say it, I felt no remorse for what happened. They were dead and gone and no one around the Row would miss them because they knew that there were many more that potentially wanted me dead.

As the car came to a stop in the Freckle Bitch's car park, Troy leaned over and stuffed my hand full of dollar bills. Seeming to enjoy the look of confusion on my face, he turned to Tamyna. "Julius wants you to take Rambo here over to see Will. Another move for us to take back the Row."

"Couldn't he have told me himself instead of using you as an errand boy?" Her face betrayed the struggle she was having to maintain her composure. In contrast, Troy was calm and unmoved by her barely restrained outburst and waited for her to finish. Without saying another word, he pushed some bills into her and got out of the car.

We watched him walk away and enter Freckle Bitch's in silence. I wouldn't have minded having something to eat either but for some reason it didn't seem to be an appropriate time for that. I took the VICE 9 from my pocket and examined it closely. The scratches where the serial number had been filed away at, the rough grip of the butt and the dull finish of the metal. I had a feeling that the rest of the day was about to get a lot more interesting...


End file.
